they say not to make a home out of a person but i’ve never found a statement to be so untrue. i’ve spent 27 years in this body trying to redecorate and rebuild. trying to place a welcome mat on the front door and string lights in the living room. i've ripped down posters that no longer served me and replaced frames of people i no longer know.
but i’ve found the kitchen to be a place where knives are kept and my bedroom a mess of insecurities strewn on the floor. i've lost the key to the basement. all dark corners and unlabeled boxes. a broken toy or two or five. the attic isn't any better. a layer of dust settles into every nook and cranny. moths have chewed through the fraying curtains. and i'm running out of investments to salvage what i can from the erosion of thoughts and time.
don’t make a person your home they said, but i’ve been stuck with myself for 27 years. and i’m tired of rebuilding.
if home can’t be a person, when can i invite myself back in? -𝑔𝒶𝒶












